


This Humanity's One Miracle Answer Specimen

by Syr



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: AU, Brain in a jar, Crack Treated Seriously, Forced acronym, Gen, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:57:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syr/pseuds/Syr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THOMAS is the gladers' one hope of escaping the maze. He's also a brain in a jar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Humanity's One Miracle Answer Specimen

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by Deliciousghosts. Thanks! <3

As soon as the doors opened, Minho entered into the maze.  
  
He had THOMAS tucked safely under one arm. The sound of swishing fluid began in a comforting rhythm that matched the beat of Minho's footsteps as he ran.  
  
"Don't worry," he told THOMAS. "I'll get you out."  
  
Or would it be the other way around?  
  
This Humanity's One Miracle Answer Specimen, THOMAS for short, was the real key to solving the maze. Minho couldn't explain the science - he wasn't a neurologist - but only THOMAS had the necessary patterns, the ones that could save them all.  
  
"Hotshot," Minho muttered. THOMAS didn't reply. THOMAS was as humble as they came. After all, he was a brain in a jar.  
  
Minho had mapped this section of the maze enough times that he could run it with his eyes closed. He took the shortest possible route to the outer edge. The maze was behind, and there was nothing ahead except a sheer drop and certain death.  
  
Minho stopped to catch his breath. He'd been running to this same spot every day; he knew there was something here, some clue to escape the maze. After all, it was THOMAS that had led him here.  
  
THOMAS was starting to get slippery under Minho's armpit, and he couldn't risk it dropping. Minho hoisted the jar out from under his arm, and lifted it until it was right in front of his face, his nose almost touching the glass.  
  
"Give me a clue," he begged. "A sign. Anything."  
  
All he got in reply was a few lazy bubbles that drifted up from THOMAS's temporal lobe.  
  
"Must get pretty hot in there," Minho said. "The sun's powerful today and you don't have any sunscreen for that delicate skin."  
  
The sun was powerful today. Minho held THOMAS securely in one hand and shielded his eyes with the other. The sun danced off THOMAS's jar, reflecting rippling waves of light back onto the sky.  
  
Wait. Light shouldn't reflect back onto the sky. The sky was infinite, the light should just keep going. That could only mean...  
  
"The sky is fake!" Minho shouted. "You did it, THOMAS!!"  
  
It was too late to bring the rest of the gladers here today, they couldn't risk getting pinned in the maze with any Grievers loose. But he'd tell them all the news tonight.  
  
"Our last night in the glade," Minho mused aloud. "Something to celebrate at last. And you'll be the guest of honour, THOMAS."  
  
***  
  
Newt was on jar duty, as he was every night. That was the system. Minho got THOMAS during the day, and Newt got him during the night. That always struck Newt as backward, he was constantly worried that Minho would stub his toe on a rock or take a corner too tight, that he'd trip and fall and THOMAS's jar would shatter and all hope would be lost.  
  
But Minho was the best runner they had, and he certainly hadn't dropped THOMAS yet. Still, it only took one time.  
  
But there was another truth, too. Newt liked having THOMAS at night. Night was usually quiet in the glade, but the party tonight was only getting louder. Newt picked up THOMAS carefully and walked a ways away from the roaring fire and rowdy teens. He wanted just a minute alone with THOMAS before everything changed forever.  
  
Sometimes, though he'd die of embarrassment if anyone ever found out, Newt like to sing to THOMAS. He had no memory of learning most of the songs he knew; like all his memories of life before the glade and maze, they were gone. But the words were still there. He knew some new songs as well, the ones made up by the gladers themselves. They were usually pretty raunchy; Newt figured THOMAS liked both.  
  
A feeling of peace and bittersweetness settled over Newt.  
  
"Everything ends," he whispered to THOMAS.  
  
THOMAS, the miraculous brain, bubbled gently in agreement.  
  
THE END


End file.
